


Aphelion

by pastasenpai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, and marauder era because marauder era is best era, massive for want of a nail alternate universe fic, shippy stuff and brotherly bonding included but horcruxes steal most of the plot, yet another regulus lives fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastasenpai/pseuds/pastasenpai
Summary: Regulus has always been, and always will be a follower, never a free thinker, never a rebel--that is, until he snatches a Horcrux underneath the nose of the Dark Lord himself and arrives on his brother's doorstep, half-drowned, but miraculously alive. From there, it's only six more Horcruxes, one long journey with the Order of the Largest, Stupidest, most Wonderful Prats known to man, and extensive character development away from bringing down the Dark Lord for good.





	Aphelion

**Author's Note:**

> basically a regulus redemption fic because I am probably unnaturally in love with this character that never even made an appearance in the book and want to give him more attention. also because it's a good vehicle to write out some minor wolfstar and jegulus.

When Regulus is ten years old, his mother takes him upstairs to face the family tapestry, a sight he’d encountered so often he’d begun to memorize every detail on it, every name and every line and every scorch mark erasing the blood-traitors from existence. His mother’s nails dig half-moon crescents into the skin of his shoulders and her icy fingers comb through his hair in some pitiful imitation of affection.

“Now that your brother has disgraced us, Regulus, _you_ are the one who will carry on the Black name. Blood is the strongest bond in existence. _Pure_ blood. He, obviously, has forgotten that, but you will not.”

Regulus nods in mute agreement, because that is all he has ever done, because he always has been, and always will be a follower, never a free thinker, never a rebel.

HIs mother reaches out past him, tracing one long nail down the line connecting her and her children, pausing at the point where the line divides her progeny into two sons, and Regulus knows that she is thinking of Sirius, of his admittance to Gryffindor, of the biggest slap in the face Walburga and Orion Black had ever received.

The hand still on his shoulder cuts into his skin hard enough to draw blood, and Regulus dearly hopes that she never discovers that he had known of Sirius’ plan in the beginning--and that he’d supported it, in a passive way.

“You do not know how deeply pleased I am with your existence. There is still hope for our family because of you. You will be placed in Slytherin, as every accountable member of our family has done, and within time, you will replace _him_ as the heir to our name.”

Regulus swallows, feeling spots of warm blood slowly stain the back of his robes as his mother feeds him her dreams and expectations.

He wants to learn to be brave, like Sirius. He wants to be renowned for his intelligence like the Ravenclaws. He wants to be loyal and kind, like the Hufflepuffs, even.

“Yes, Mother.”

She smiles.

His words wrap around his throat like serpentine chains, binding him to his fate.

* * *

He is eighteen now, watching the houses burn and the people die, and Regulus is realizing, too late, as he feels the Dark Mark crawling underneath his skin, that he is not meant to be a Death Eater.

He is grateful for the mask that disguises his face as the wizards around him laugh. These are people he went to school with, people he spent seven years of his life playing Quidditch with, frantically studying for OWLS in the dead of the night with, sharing a dorm with, and yet, he has never known them, not truly.

He does not know them now as Avery (the best at Wizard Chess, he’d taught Regulus how to play) aims a casual Killing Curse at a small child who clings to the body of his dead mother and Wilkes (always bought more Cauldron Cakes than he could possibly eat and had shared them with the entire compartment on the train) slices open a young witch, barely older than Regulus himself, with an almost lazy flick of his wand.

Regulus’ stomach twists as their obvious mirth grows ever louder, and pretends to be distracted by something off to the side, if only to avoid looking at the destruction that he was partially responsible for.

“You’re too obvious, Reg,” Evan Rosier, possibly his only true friend remaining in this world, hisses in his ear, acting as if he himself is captivated by the nonexistent sight in the empty space. “You shouldn’t have agreed to come to the raid--you shouldn’t have joined the Death Eaters in the first place.”

“I know,” Regulus admits lowly, instead of stubbornly protesting against it, like he would have normally done, but he can’t quite bring himself to deny Evan’s words as he struggles to fight down his revulsion at the scene unfolding before them. “But I had to.”

Evan gives him a possibly appraising glance, looking as if he wants to say more, but the others have already begun to notice their slight separation from the rest of the group, and are starting to look curiously in their direction as well.

Evan casts the incantation for _homenum revelio_ a bit more loudly than he would have had, if it wasn’t for their audience, audibly proclaiming, “There’s no one here, Black. Perhaps the smoke from the fire is getting to your pretty head, little prince, making you see things. Care to retreat back to your castle early?”

“No, but thank you for your gracious offer, Rosier. I apologize for the distraction--I merely thought I saw the last of your intelligence fleeing from your empty mind into the woods over there.”

Regulus can almost hear Evan rolling his eyes from behind his mask. Perhaps he’d overdone it a bit, but the more animosity that they pretended was between them, the less suspicion about their actions there would be. Evan had already covered for him multiple times in the past, ranging from killing people in Regulus’ stead to allowing Regulus to slip away unnoticed from several proceedings, and it wouldn’t exactly help their case if the other Death Eaters, or, heaven forbid, the Dark Lord himself caught wind of their friendship.  
“Save your little lovers’ quarrel for later,” Amycus drawls, readying his wand to project the Dark Mark over the burning ruins of the village, when they all sense the rather powerful breach in their wards, and the sudden influx of magical power and number of people in the area.

“ _Aurors_ ,” Avery spits the word out like a bitter acid, disgust and excitement coloring his voice.

The Aurors, probably having been tipped off at some point, were here--which meant that the Order was also here, which, of course, meant Sirius and his band of prats were here, quite ready and eager to throw their overly large heads in front of a good Killing Curse or three.

Amycus lowers his wand. “It seems as if our job here is not quite finished yet,” he declared softly, the smile evident in his voice. “The band of blood-traitors and impure blood have come to present themselves on a silver platter for us.”

Regulus’ heart drops somewhere around his already upset stomach, his fingers tightening their grip on his wand. Although he himself had not yet spilled any blood, standing by and watching the others kill nameless innocents was bad enough. A confrontation with the Order would most definitely require Regulus to participate in full, and a duel against any of them would most certainly be to kill.

“Would you like us to save your _brother_ for you, Black?” Amycus inquires in a tone so obviously mocking it was almost insulting.

Regulus struggles to keep his tone even. “I don’t care about him. He was removed from our family, if you can recall that fact, somewhere within that pea-sized brain of yours, so do not reference him as such again.”

“Of course, how foolish of me to forget--”

“As enlightening as your discussion is, the Order will soon be upon us if we continue to stand around idly,” Evan interrupts, much to Regulus’ relief.

The rest of the circle, quite eager in their bloodlust, shift restlessly, watching Amycus for his command. Amycus, possibly sensing what little control he was retaining over the group at this point, retreats from the topic of Sirius, nodding at the rest of them.

“Good luck,” Evan mutters quietly to Regulus as he brushes past him, each of the Death Eaters fanning out to find their own opponent to battle with. Regulus, with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like glue and his teeth clenched hard enough to hurt, finds himself unable to answer.

He stands still for a moment too long before wandering off in his own direction, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t run into anyone from the Order--especially Sirius--and that he could simply return to the Dark Lord at the end of the raid in peace.

And then maybe, just maybe, he would consider the fastest and best possible escape route from the Death Eaters as a whole.

* * *

Luck is on his side for a full hour before Regulus finds himself staring down at one James Potter, who, even while bound at their feet by the _Incarcerous_ spell and wandless, glares defiantly up at them. The rest of the Order had scattered, either dead, injured, or in hiding, and it was merely an unfortunate coincidence that Potter had been spotted by Amycus himself, who infinitely preferred to play with his food over killing it.

“What a fine catch,” Amycus remarks delightedly, kneeling down and jerking Potter’s chin up so he was level to Potter’s bruised face.

Potter, apparently very much like Sirius in their levels of sheer idiocy, spits in Amycus’ face in response. While the Death Eater was protected by his mask, the meaning of the gesture is lost on none of them, and Amycus’ voice is cold as he snarls, “ _Crucio_.”

All of James Potter’s Gryffindor bravery leaves him as his body convulses involuntarily under the curse, his screams tearing through the air. Regulus knows that pain, has felt it himself from multiple sources an uncountable number of times, and he knows that the pain never lessens.

Regulus cannot bring himself to look at Potter’s face, the same face he’d seen from the other side of the Quidditch pitch, the one that was always shaped into a mischievous smile or a carefree laugh--it burns him inside for some inexplicable reason. He’s never been particularly close to Potter. In fact, he’d resented him for the better part of three years, when he’d watched Potter slowly fill his place as Sirius’ brother, and he’s not entirely sure he’s gotten over that feeling completely.

His discomfort, then, was most likely due to his intolerance of pain upon others, and when Amycus finally lifts his wand, releasing the curse, Regulus lets out a long breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I hope, after that, you have learned some respect for those who are of higher status than you.”

James Potter, clearly weakened and in great pain, opens his mouth for another retort, but his impossibly low sense of self preservation is saved as all the Death Eaters simultaneously wince as the Dark Mark suddenly burns at their skin with the Dark Lord’s summons. They had stalled for too long here, having their fun with Potter. Amycus curses underneath his breath, clearly displeased at the interruption, but unable to disobey the calling of the mark.

“Good news for you, blood-traitor. Your suffering comes to an end now. _Avada_ \--”

“Wait.”

Before Regulus’ brain can catch up to the rest of him, he grabs Amycus’ wand arm, interrupting his casting of the Killing Curse. It was a stupid move, as all he feels all of the attention and suspicion very suddenly directed onto him, and he scrambles for some sort of excuse to explain his actions.

“I mean--I would like to be the one to kill him, actually. I bear a certain, more personal resentment against Potter, and nothing would satisfy me more to be the one to take his life. So, if you would allow me the _honor_ …?” The lie is surprisingly easy to summon, mostly due to the truth within it. It was difficult to overlook the large part within him that continued to be bitter at Potter.

Amycus studies him for a long while, and Regulus manages to meet his gaze, even as the Dark Mark burns more insistently and painfully against their forearms. As close as they are now, he can see Amycus’ eyes shift uneasily through the slits in the mask, and he knows that the other Death Eaters can’t afford to stall for any longer, lest they face the Dark Lord’s wrath.

Regulus knows that it’s heavily rumored that he was one of the Dark Lord’s favorites, especially as he had been the youngest Death Eater recruited, and as a result, other followers such as Amycus had no reservations about their desires to remove him from that apparent position. The other Death Eater, after careful consideration of the situation, expected Regulus to be punished, which, most likely, given what he was about to do, wouldn’t be so far from the truth.

“How interesting. The Little Prince is so eager to have his first kill. Very well. But do not expect us to accompany you--we shall be returning to the Dark Lord to answer his summons, and you may feel free to follow us later and explain to him why you are late. I highly doubt your status as the favored one will protect you, then.”

Regulus forces himself to nod respectfully at Amycus in thanks, ignoring Evan’s “what-are-you-doing-are-you-barking-mad” look in favor of meeting Potter’s hazel eyes that stared back at him with deep loathing as the rest of the Death Eaters Apparate away.

_Blood is the strongest bond in existence,_ his mother had told him, all those years ago, and Regulus had not forgotten.  
  
Potter was Sirius’ “brother,” as the two of them had so loudly proclaimed numerous times, and Sirius was his brother, even if Sirius himself most likely no longer considered them such and he had been burned from the family tapestry. He could not allow Potter to die for this reason, and this reason alone.

Or so he tells himself.

“Who are you? Snivellus in disguise, or something? Can’t particularly imagine why a Death Eater would have a ‘personal’ grudge against me, seeing as how the only time I really interact with you lot is to stop your rampant murder and destruction,” Potter interrupts his thoughts, his tone relatively carefree, but his words and eyes dripping pure venom. He was a true Gryffindor, possessing apparently not an ounce of fear, even at the supposed moment before his death.

“And here I thought intelligence was a requirement to becoming an Auror--a requisite that you have spectacularly failed to meet, Potter,” Regulus replies coolly, debating with himself for only a moment before removing his mask, relishing the surprise on Potter’s face and the fact that he’d actually managed to render the other speechless, if only for a moment.

Regulus points his wand at Potter, undoing the magical bonds while preparing himself for possible retaliation on Potter’s part, but it doesn’t come.

“So you did join them, after all,” is all Potter says, and Regulus is surprised to hear something like _sadness_ in his voice. How ridiculous. “We all heard, but Padfoot, I mean, Sirius, _hoped_ …”

“That it wasn’t true?” Regulus’ laugh is short and bitter. “He should have known. This is the only path for the _sole_ heir to the Black family, after all.”

He means for his words to be more antagonistic against his brother, but despite himself, no matter how hard he tries, he’s glad that he is the one to stand in this position, and not Sirius, that Sirius was able to follow his own beliefs in life, rather than succumbing to the long upheld traditions of their family.

“But you’re not a Death Eater.”

Regulus pulls up his left sleeve in exasperation--was this Potter’s infamously naive and trusting nature and horrific habit of trusting everyone that he had heard so much about? “If the hood and the mask and the company that I currently keep were unable to convince you of my identity, then maybe the Dark Mark branded directly upon my skin will?”

“I mean, you look like one, but you aren’t one. After all, you’re not killing me, and you obviously have no plans to. In fact, I doubt you’ve killed _anyone_ before,” Potter has the nerve to offer him a tentative, cheeky grin, completely confident in his own words that, sadly, were completely true.

“Perhaps,” he musters vaguely, unable to supply a better answer.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Potter asks almost victoriously, and Regulus takes it upon himself to remind him of his exact situation.

“You are standing alone in a field, completely unarmed, with a _Death Eater._ Are you so sure you want to test that statement?”

Potter shrugs with an air of practiced casualness, but Regulus can see the seriousness on his face. “So I am. But again, you don’t seem so bad. And you’re young, really young. And my best mate’s brother, to boot. I’m thinking that it wouldn’t be so hard for you to ditch Voldemort and come over to our side, with a little persuading.”

“In that case, you are even more of an idiot than I initially believed,” Regulus remarks dryly, quickly squashing down the feeble, improbable bit of hope that flared inside of him at Potter’s words. The other was offering him a way out--one that he could not take. “Just because I plan to let you go back to your precious Order does not mean that I am petitioning to join it.”

“So you’ll just go back to Voldemort? And, what, bow at his feet again and follow him blindly?” Potter asks, his voice hardening once more.

Regulus was relieved to hear Potter’s tone and conversation returning to the more normal scope of things, to Potter’s inherent dislike of all Death Eaters, now that he was not blinded by the fact that Regulus was helping him in this particular situation.

“Yes, precisely. And _you_ will need to knock me unconscious, of course,” Regulus tells him, holding out his wand to Potter, who stares back at him in complete astonishment. “Otherwise, it would be rather difficult to explain to the Dark Lord that I simply allowed you to get up and Portkey--which you will also make with my wand, in case you have somehow not picked up on this fact--away.”

Potter takes his wand without further question, silently enchanting a stray rock into a Portkey, watching as it glowed blue on the ground.

“Regulus,” Potter says quietly, and the actual use of his first name is enough to give him pause, to meet Potter’s hazel eyes, which burn with some sort of incomprehensible determination. “If you want--if you need to get out, I’ll help you.”

Regulus stares at him for a long moment, confusion and hope and anger warring within him before he shakes his head. “You want to help _everyone_ , don’t you, Potter? It won’t work. Don’t make promises you have no hope of keeping. Now, Stun me, so we may get this unfortunate encounter over with, already.”

Potter sighs almost inaudibly, lifting Regulus’ wand.

Regulus sees a flash of bright red light and unreadable hazel eyes, looking almost sadly back at him, and then, nothing.


End file.
